


Vacation Hours

by AnotherAnon0



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Gangbang, M/M, Nicholai is a hoe again, Prison Sex, Rape Fantasy, Rough Body Play, Rough Oral Sex, Russian Prison Tattoos, Sexual Slavery, Spitroasting, Starvation, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26004256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: Nicholai uses his vacation hours in a rather... peculiar way.
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Carlos Oliveira, Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Mikhail Victor
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Vacation Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Liquid Mercury](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24466993) by [AnotherAnon0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0). 



The U.B.C.S barracks had a scent map -- a peculiar series of smells that accurately corresponded to area, and could even guide one if they got lost in the leviathan, repurposed correctional institution. 

The common areas smelled like fatigues. Sweaty uniforms and clean ones. Heavy canvas fabrics rubbing against flesh, against the leather of the chairs and couches, against the leather caps of high-ankled boots which had their own, unique smell. 

The shower rooms smelled like the strange, unidentifiable bouquet of the soap the men were issued. Umbrella brand, naturally, but always provided in clear packaging without any indication of what its ingredients were or what scent it was intending. 

The cafeteria smelled like food. Sometimes good food, sometimes bad food. Glossy grey porridges for breakfast, along with a mandatory beverage any questions about the nature of which would be met with genuine, unknowing shrugs. Umbrella brand, naturally. 

But at the back of the barracks, through a set of double doors under a broken EXIT sign, the smells changed dramatically. 

Musky, damp, mouldy and acrid. Rust dominated all of the other disgusting smells, crisp, copper flakes peeling from the bars of the abandoned, unused cells. U.B.C.S hadn't bothered to refinish the actual _prison_ complex of the barracks after purchasing it, closing it off and instructing conscripts to not enter due to structural issues and asbestos. 

Many of the mercenaries mumbled venom about how their dorms shared a load-bearing wall with countless, empty jail cells. Most of them had been sourced from prisons, after all, and being in such proximity to many of their sources of their anger, trauma, and forced servitude was as amusing as it was infuriating. Some more pessimistic ones even thought it was an intentional mind game by the company, a calculated decision aimed at keeping them pent-up and enraged.

Mikhail knew better.

Plodding quietly down the central corridor towards the double doors under a broken EXIT sign, the Captain ruminated on how ironic it was to be back in a prison, but in an entirely new position of control. Of course, Umbrella hadn't known the complex was so vast in comparison to the dormitory. Mikhail knew they had sent a faceless administrator to a realty office and made the purchase without ever having seen the actual building. Their level of concern for the conscripts wasn't high enough to do an inspection beforehand. 

He retrieved a key from his pocket -- one that was on a small but cynical wooden plank so as to distinguish it from the other keys in the maintenance office closet, kept around in case of an electrical or plumbing emergency. 

It hadn't been in that closet for quite a while, stored in Mikhail's bedside table drawer. No one had needed it since he'd snatched it up the few months prior.

He unlocked one of the two double doors, slipping through after a quick glance around to ensure he was alone. It was close to midnight -- the conscripts had been sent to their dorms one hour ago, but sometimes they wandered for insomnia or an attempted late-night romp with a whore from the nearby town.

Once crossed the threshold, the familiar smell of the forbidden space tickled his nose. The bittersweet smell of rust and damp. 

Mikhail turned to lock the door behind him, cementing his existence in the parallel universe that existed in the halls around him.

Paintchips, thick layers of dust, and old pieces of rotting wood crackled under his boots as he trotted down the short cement stairway, beginning his journey down the seemingly endless hall. 

It was dark, lit only by the few, sporadic emergency lights perched at the seam of the ceiling and wall every few meters. Some were broken, leaving a particularly long stretch of nothingness before a spot was illuminated again -- casting contoured shadows into the empty cells, some of which were open, some closed, some with bars missing completely. 

But Mikhail knew where to go.

A few minutes of walking and winding down splitting pathways almost entirely obscured by darkness rewarded him with a beaming light. A floodlight. One he had placed there himself -- shining an abusively warm, powerful glean into the cell bars standing before it. 

Cell 17F.

The light was almost so bright it took him a moment to adjust his eyes once he was before it, pupils contracting and vision spotted for a moment until the space beyond the bars became easier to make out. 

Perhaps the light was too bright.

"The light is too bright."

Mikhail suppressed a smile at the weakened, but still biting voice dripping through the rusted iron bars.

"I don't care." He began working through his other pocket, searching for a key different to the one he had used to enter the ethereal space of the prison complex, "This isn't a vacation."

The lock of the cell snapped open with a sound that reverberated throughout the entire hall, echoing off of the broken, split concrete walls. Again, he locked the door behind him after he entered. 

Two steps brought him to loom over the metal cot at the far end of the pathetically tiny space. The bed, if it deserved that name, was a simple, metal flat. No cushions, mattress, or blankets softened contact with the naked body lying atop it. 

"It feels like it."

Mikhail's eyes began to scan the body, taking stock of any tiny changes that might have emerged since his last visit to the cell, two days prior. 

Nicholai was a bit paler, Mikhail noted. His collarbone seemed a bit more prominent than it had been, and certainly more contoured and well-defined than it had been prior to the beginning of his week-long captivity. The older man couldn't help running his gaze over Nicholai's muscular abdomen, Adams apple bobbing under the high collar of his red sweater as he watched the elaborate, black-ink paintings dance and quiver with each breath. 

"Enjoying yourself, then?" Mikhail finally responded, cocking an eyebrow.

"You could say that." Nicholai shifted position, trying to flatten out but the awkward angle his wrists were bound to a link in the wall behind his head made it difficult to lay in any other position but that which put tremendous pressure on one side of his hips. After a moment, he gave up -- silently reminding himself it didn't matter. He hadn't been able to sleep since Mikhail had brought that god-awful floodlight and aimed it directly at him. Comfort was nonexistent. 

"You're not supposed to enjoy this, _Kolya_." Mikhail smirked, hands moving to his trouser zipper casually. 

Nicholai pursed his lips, eyes dancing down to watch Mikhail's fingers slowly peeling down the metal latch.

"Oh?"

" _Da_."

~

" _I didn't know you were a convict."_

Such a simple remark that would lead to so much. Mikhail had asked it in Russian, conscious of the few other men still lingering in the locker rooms near the showers.

" _In and out since I was 13."_

Mikhail had smiled one of his jovial, paternal smiles. The kind that made his eyes glean. Nicholai let him assess the tattoos intently, lifting his arms and turning him with a gentle finger on the shoulder to assess the flesh canvases of Nicholai's back and chest. 

The Captain had no tattoos himself, even having gone to prison after the fall of the Soviet Union. He wasn't a lifelong criminal. He hadn't earned the honour of being branded and having stories of ink pressed into his skin -- his internment only having been a short one before Umbrella headhunted him. While inside, however, he had witnessed the esoteric rituals amongst the real convicts -- the needles, stolen from the camp medic, being lit aflame in a crude attempt at disinfecting them. Plunging into skin using ink drained from pens, mixed with soot, or -- if one was truly impressive -- paint smuggled into the prison by visitors.

Nicholai had quite a few markings, though none extended past his shoulders as though he were still somewhat self-conscious about being able to hide them. Elaborate and simple. Religious and Soviet. Cyrillic writing across his lower belly condemned the judge -- Smirnov -- who sentenced him to the _Belyy Lebed_ penal colony.

_"How was it?"_

The younger man had shrugged, switching off the shower tap and reaching for his towel.

" _Not terrible."_

" _No_?"

" _I hated the block I was in..."_ A devious smile creeped across Nicholai's steam-flushed cheeks _, "But I enjoyed the warden."_

Mikhail was sure the silver-haired mercenary had convinced himself it was an inside-joke. Perhaps one he had thought Mikhail was too daft or innocent to understand. But as Nicholai wrapped the towel around his waist and moved to turn, Mikhail had issued a casual retort that stopped him in his tracks.

" _What benefits did you get for it?"_ When Nicholai shot a cocked eyebrow over his shoulder, _"Just because I'm not a career criminal doesn't mean I wasn't able to understand what I saw while inside."_

Nicholai had turned back around, crossing his arms with a smirk, " _You were in for a few months -- That's not long_."

" _So what benefits did you get?"_ Mikhail asked again, chuckling as he ignored the tiny, amused jeer directed at him.

_"I got to lick his beautiful boots. Isn’t that a benefit enough?”_

~

The next night, Mikhail decided to uncuff Nicholai and feed him.

The younger man's hands had taken on a strange shade of pastel violet, probably from the incessant wiggling Mikhail had warned him against. He'd accidentally forced the cuffs to tighten around his wrists, tugging and pulling them into locking further and further in the metal slide. 

Or, Mikhail thought for a moment, perhaps not _accidentally_.

Nicholai's arms lay impotently at his sides, numbly unused for days, weakened for lack of food and water. 

"Onto the floor, _Kolya_." 

Nicholai grunted weakly, clearly attempting to respond to the order but having difficulty without the proper use of his arms.

Mikhail waited a moment before deciding to offer _assistance_ \-- reaching out and grabbing a fistful of Nicholai's dirty hair and pulling him unceremoniously off the cot, letting him tumble the short distance to the filthy cement floor. He leaned down and set a metal bowl of porridge beside Nicholai's head, some of which had spilled down the rim in the jerking pull he had made of the other man's body. 

The breakfast porridge at the barracks was actually quite good, so he actually made an effort to reduce its quality. Taking the last bowl from the pot and leaving it in the fridge for the day before thinning it down with the fluoridated, copper-smelling water that came out of the sinktaps did the trick perfectly.

"Eat your food. Or I'll take it away again."

The younger man tried to hoist himself up on his forearms, the limbs struggling and trembling weakly as he did. Feeling particularly cruel, Mikhail planted the sole of his left boot on Nicholai's head, kicking him roughly until he face-planted in the gruel, a splash of the grey-coloured sludge casting a shadow puddle around the mess of a sight. With a sigh, Mikhail stepped over Nicholai's torso, sitting down on the metal bed.

Nicholai choked, coughing and sputtering as he lifted himself out of the bowl. Just as he managed to catch his bearings, Mikhail set his boots on his back, using him casually as a footstool. The weight of the man's legs forced him back into the porridge. 

Mikhail watched the dust and dirt of his boots transfer onto Nicholai's pale flesh, an amused smile pulling at his cheeks as he watched the younger man struggle again to lift himself from drowning in the sludge. 

"Eat, _malysh_." Mikhail mewed, "You need a bit of energy. You've been _unsatisfying_ lately."

He chuckled at the tiny, meek attempt at a glare Nicholai attempted, face absolutely covered in porridge. 

"I am not interested in sub-par blowjobs." Mikhail cocked his head, "Especially when I _know_ you can do better."

~

"Fuck, Captain... I..." 

Carlos stuttered awkwardly, tripping over his words as his eyes incessantly darted from the floor to the scene past the cell bars. He was dancing between incredulous laughs, and barely audible mumbles of strung-together nonsense. A deep red flush was overtaking 

Mikhail simply smiled, eyes glistening through dark contours, the floodlight casting a devious halo around him.

The young man's cinnamon eyes flicked up to look at Mikhail, lips slightly gaped as he found himself processing the situation as rapidly as his mind was able to at such an ungodly hour. Silently, he mulled over how a nighttime jaunt to the cafeteria to steal a drink from the cooler he knew was kept unlocked had turned into... something else entirely.

" _Sergeant Zinoviev told me what happened between you two..."_

_"C-cap? I don't... I don't understand?"_

He'd played dumb at first, but the bottle of orange juice was quivering in his tight grip. 

_"Your little shower room jaunt."_

The detail -- impossible to have been known by anyone else without being told -- made it obvious there hadn't been any other way to interpret Mikhail's sly, cat-grinned suggestion. 

The shower room. Something Carlos had told himself was an accident. A misstep. A perverse provocation by the older man, forcing him to sin in a way he would never be caught dead sinning in if not for a smarmy whore who had no business enticing him the way he had. Carlos had denied that the rough, filthy fuck had been a one-time-only abuse of his temporary miscalculations for which Nicholai was to blame. He denied any culpability or enjoyment, even in the off-nights his hand found its way to slither beneath his covers in thought of it. 

In the kitchen, the Captain had stared him down, elbows perched on the steel cafeteria buffet top, amusement seeping from every pore, before inviting him for a _walk_.With some trepidation, Carlos agreed to follow Mikhail into the abandoned part of the barracks -- his eyes widening with every step as he stayed tight on Mikhail's heels. 

When they had arrived to Cell 17F, Carlos was taken aback by the floodlight. He squinted as he fought off the abusive yellow glow, heat from the massive bulb immediately causing his skin to well a clammy sheen. 

It had taken his eyes a few moments to adjust to the light, and once they did, he first noticed Mikhail leaning onto the cell bars casually, a devilish grin on his paternal face. 

Once he had turned to look into the cell, Carlos felt every microscopic organism in his body freeze — From nerves to mitochondria and ribosomes seizing totally.

He’d stood there, unmoving, staring through the bars. Adam’s Apple first breaking the damp silence by bobbing loudly as he swallowed the concrete saliva that was undulating in his mouth.

 _Nicholai_.

With a moment of hesitation, drawing himself from his thoughts, Carlos worked up the courage to look back through to the sight which had stopped him cold.

His Sergeant was sitting on a metal cot, wrists bound at his waist. He was naked, thighs and arms marred with dirt and a few dark, spotty bruises that made him seem even filthier. The only thing which kept Carlos calm was the fact Nicholai was blindfolded with a grimy piece of torn t-shirt, an equal bundle of the fabric stuffed into his mouth -- though he was sure Nicholai could hear him, the younger man didn't know what he would do if he caught sight of those jade eyes.

"Captain..." The corporal cleared his throat, a sound which sent a barely visible tremble through Nicholai's shoulders.

" _Da_ , Carlos?" Mikhail peeped chipperly, as though nothing were remotely out of the ordinary.

"How long has he been in there?"

"Not long enough, if his behaviour is any indication." The older man mewed with a self-satisfied chuckle.

When a haze of red washed over Carlos' cheeks, Mikhail knew it was time to open the cell.

~

"Can I take his blindfold off, Sir?"

Carlos' fingers danced over Nicholai's brow, breath heavily beating against the older man's silver hair as he loomed over him.

"Whatever you wish." Mikhail was washing his hands in the small, tin sink over the toilet -- a prison leftover stuffed in the corner of the cell.

Plucking the material between two gentle fingers, Carlos lifted the fabric until it slipped over Nicholai's forehead, casting it to the floor unceremoniously. 

The rings beneath his eyes were so dark, so red. Carlos assessed the jade orbs carefully, a tiny pang of something unidentifiable swelling in his chest when Nicholai began to take him in fully, the smallest smirk forming around the bundle of filthy fabric stuffed between his lips. 

"Long time no see, _mi_ _amigo_." Carlos whispered, lip cocking up into a smile as he set his fingers under Nicholai's chin, standing and pulling the other man's head up as he did, "Getting yourself into trouble, as usual?"

Nicholai nodded, quivering as the younger man's thumb slipped over his chin and ran across his chapped lower lip. The way Nicholai's eyes fluttered into the touch made Carlos run his tongue across the corner of his mouth hungrily, the red haze on his cheeks growing deeper and darker with every burning moment. 

"Why'd you tell Cap about us anyway?" The Columbian cocked his head to the side, asking questions of the older man as though he were able to respond, " _What_ did you tell Cap about us?"

He'd almost forgotten Mikhail was in the room when a chuckle broke the momentary silence that had settled as he continued to lock eyes with Nicholai, the Captain sauntering up to linger next to Carlos.

"I had overheard Mr. Tyrell Patrick mumbling with some of the other men about _Kolya_. Apparently he'd been bus--"

"Tyrell?!" Carlos leaned down again, eyes widening as he watched Nicholai's gag-suppressed smirk grow wider, "You fucked Tyrell too?"

One exhausted, bloodshot jade eye winked cheekily as Mikhail continued, unbothered by the sudden interruption.

"And Mr. Seeker. And Mr. McDowell. And Mr. Ivanov. And Mr. Matsumoto. And a few others whose classifications defy my ability to speak of them."

Mikhail's eyes remained trained on the younger man, meticulously assessing the expression on his face as it undulated on the razor-thin border of arousal and anger. Out of all the names Nicholai, Carlos had left the greatest impression on him -- and it was clear the Sergeant had left quite an impression on Carlos; a Romeo Montague wannabe whose entire self-worth was invested in his machismo success with the _opposite_ sex.

"I _knew_ you were a fuckin' whore." The low growl sent another tremble up Nicholai's back, Adams apple visibly bobbing under his taut skin, "You were _provoking_ me."

Carlos reached out and plucked the fabric gag from Nicholai's lips, the material unraveling as he dropped it to the floor. Almost immediately, a cracked croak leaked from Nicholai's dry mouth.

" **Don't act like you didn't want me, Oliveria.** "

Immediately, the younger man took a fistful of the short, silver locks between his fingers, squeezing tightly as he jerked Nicholai's head up, forcing him to stand on shaky legs, thigh muscles trembling under the sudden exertion. Pushing him roughly, Carlos forced the other man to bend at the hips, Nicholai almost tumbling to the floor as he was pushed and prodded roughly, the hand in his hair the only thing stabilising him.

Mikhail watched intently as Carlos roughly handled Nicholai's weak body, jerking his head free of the tight grasp in his hair before focusing his strength on gripping Nicholai equally tightly by the hips. The tattoos beneath his fingers buckled and reddened as he squeezed the flesh, digging his nails into it. Ripping a hand away was almost painful -- like pulling off a bandaid, but Carlos needed to free himself from the increasingly tight confines of his pyjama pants.

Wrists still bound together, Nicholai reached out with whatever strength he had, grabbing at Mikhail's fatigue pants and tugging at the fabric softly -- a silent plead that needed no words to be perfectly understood.

"Are you sure?" Mikhail grinned down at the silver-haired man, "You look quite faint. You might pass out."

" _Khorosho_!" Nicholai croaked, tongue trailing along his bottom lip deliciously as he affirmed his desire. 

Carlos penetrated him without a moment of preparation -- ravenous desperation driving him to push into the submissive older man with the same fervour he had that fateful night in the shower room. Nicholai's back arched, a sweet squeak of mingling surprise and pain peeping out of him as he squeezed harder on the bundle of Mikhail's trousers he'd still been pulling at childishly. He pushed back into the thrust, eliciting a satisfied grunt from the younger man.

" _F-fuck_..." Carlos spat, pulling out before slamming into him again -- as though he were trying to split the other man in two, or bury himself in impossibly deeper organs.

Mikhail chuckled, watching Nicholai try to manage the sensations wracking his weak body while still expressing desire and need. Slowly, he tugged his zipper down, the jade eyes following the little clasp with every centimetre it dropped. A clammy sheen was beginning to glisten across Nicholai's pale forehead, a flush blossoming across the contours of his high cheekbones.

The moment the Captain had pulled himself from his opened fly, Nicholai used whatever strength he had to lunge, tongue lulling out of his dry mouth to lap at it hungrily, lips closing around the head and sucking with a greed Mikhail had once condemned him for having.

Carlos fucked him in long, deep thrusts -- ones that only made it easier to bob on the cock buried in his throat, the natural rhythm and swaying doing much of the work for him. For that, Nicholai was perversely thankful. Mikhail had been displeased with his oral service as of late, and had even gone so far as to withhold the usual punishment of belt-lashings -- something he realised Nicholai was deriving far too much enjoyment from and may have been using as an incentive to underperform. 

Mikhail slipped his hand around the back of Nicholai's head, stroking the hair gently as he applied pressure, encouraging the Sergeant to take him deeper. The muscles of Nicholai's throat spasmed and contracted around the thick erection, wheezy choking noises bubbling through the sides of his lips along with saliva and precum. 

"Enjoying yourself, Corporal?" Mikhail said with a contented sigh.

"Ahh.. ahh.. mmhmm.."

Carlos' eyes were firmly clenched shut, sweat beginning to bead and trickle down his temples as he continued his assault of Nicholai's insides. Internally, he debated whether it was even better than the last time, or if his fantasies had been denied for so long that his mind was making Nicholai seem _that much_ tighter, deeper, and wetter. Perhaps it was a mix of the two. He couldn't spare another thought to it, instead lost in the warmth of Nicholai's body -- the man's inner walls feeling as though they were sucking him in, milking him slowly of his pent-up seed.

Nicholai had been the first man he'd ever been with -- the night in the shower leaving him both disgusted and desperate for more. None of the women he'd picked up at the nearby settlement bar had come close to pleasing him as much as **_he_** had, listless fucks leaving him contemplating all the ways Nicholai's _pussy_ was superior to theirs.

The Sergeant was pushing back into every thrust, obscene slurping noises accompanying every little moment he made, head swaying and bobbing over Mikhail's groin. 

"You're doing better tonight, _Kolya_!" Mikhail praised, using his handle on the back of Nicholai's head to push him into his erection. He held him there for a moment, delighting in the muffled gasps and chokes that came with the younger man's entire throat being filled, not a drop of oxygen making its way into his lungs.

"Much, much better." 

~

Nicholai relished the taste of Mikhail's cum, breathing in deeply to appreciate the delicious fragrance.

He'd been uncuffed just before the two locked him away and disappeared down the long, dark corridor back to the barracks. The tiny _reward_ allowed his hands the freedom of exploring the moist spots of obscenity between his thighs. With a few delicate, shaky fingers, he stroked at his own well-fucked entrance, feeling Carlos' seed still leaking from him.

Bringing his fingers to his lips, he sucked on the wet digits self-soothingly, moaning into them when the two men's unique flavours mingled beautifully and overwhelmed his senses. 

Weakened for lack of proper nutrition and water, he forced himself to fight off the unconsciousness which was pleading he accept it through a headache. He didn't want to slip into nothingness, he wanted to run his tongue over his teeth a few more times and savour the cream stuck there. He prodded the inside of his cheeks, swallowing sparsely so as to preserve the distinct, bittersweet stickiness which coated the back of his throat. 

Writhing against his metal bed, Nicholai let his eyes flutter shut -- an attempt at blocking out the glaring light still focused on him. Mikhail said he hadn't done _quite_ a good enough job to warrant turning the spotlight down, but even closed, the inside of his lids were tinted a bright orange as the glow attempted to penetrate through his skin.

He had forgotten how many days he had been _detained_.

He had lost count, though he was unsure if he ever had an accurate count to begin with. 

But he knew he only had two weeks of vacation hours banked. 

**Author's Note:**

> What happened in the shower room between Carlos and Nicholai? 
> 
> If you want all the raunchy details -- Read Liquid Mercury ([Linked here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24466993)) 
> 
> ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ Hope you enjoyed!


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